


I Needed To Do That

by chorus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chorus/pseuds/chorus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek comforts Stiles after his dad is shot, is Stiles developing feelings for Derek?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-on to Breathe Deep And Slow, but is its own story.

“Thanks, Mrs. Mathers.” Stiles closed the door and set the dish on the table. It was a mark of the sheriff's popularity that so many people brought over food. There was so much food that Stiles had tried to give some of it to his best friend Scott's mom, but she only took it saying that she would keep it in her freezer for him. While Sheriff Stilinski was still recovering at the hospital after being shot, it did seem like practically the whole town had turned out to help. In addition to food, neighbors had come over and done yardwork, a couple of deputies had even repainted the garage. Mrs. Mathers had been one of a group of women who barged in one afternoon and cleaned the entire house. The only thing Stiles didn't like was the patrol car following him all the time, but the shooter was still on the loose.

Stiles also didn't like that many of the deputies gave Derek hard looks. Since the shooting, Stiles had latched on to Derek. That first night, Stiles had curled up in Derek's arms, seeking protection from the chasm of loneliness and despair that threatened to pull him under. Since then, Stiles still curled up to him every night.

Derek Hale had seen, but chosen to ignore, the deputies' hard looks. In the past he'd been accused of a couple of serious crimes, but had been cleared. His background also worked against him: he came from a rural family and many of the townspeople had looked askance at them.

Right now Derek was looking askance at the latest food offering. “I think it's fish,” he said, putting the lid back on top of the bowl.

Stiles was writing on a piece of masking tape. “Probably sea bass, that's her favorite.” He put the tape on the dish, and picking it up with one hand, opened the refrigerator door with the other. It was full of casserole, serving and other dishes, and Stiles hunted for a place to store the latest one. “You know, we're not going to have to cook for a month!”

“You can cook?” Derek teased.

Stiles, having balanced the dish precariously on top of another, closed the refrigerator door and waved his hand around the kitchen. “I'm a good cook!” 

Derek pointed to the bulletin board, which was covered with fast-food delivery menus. “You're a good cook with your dialing finger,” he laughed. He walked over and mussed Stiles' hair. “Gotta go do some things. See you later.”

The happiness in Stiles' eyes vanished. “Of, of course,” he stammered. “I- I'll have the video game ready.”

Derek understood this sudden change in mood. He knew that Stiles was still afraid. Stiles had lost his mother several years ago, his dad was all he had left. Derek wondered why Stiles hadn't turned to Scott, or Lydia. Stiles and Scott had been best friends since grade school, and Stiles and Lydia were currently in an on-again stage of their off-again, on-again dating. Yet Stiles had insisted, almost begged, Derek to stay, spending evenings either watching tv or playing video games, at night curling up against him when he went to sleep. Except for school, Stiles had seen little of Scott and even less of Lydia.

Not that his friends hadn't tried. Lydia had called a few times, but Stiles either ignored the calls or kept them very short, making excuses to get off the phone quickly. Scott had taken a more direct approach: telling Stiles he could send Derek home, and he'd gladly stay over. Stiles made excuses why Derek had to stay. Scott didn't like that, but didn't push the issue, either.

Derek wasn't going to complain, though; he'd realized that he loved Stiles. He kept trying to convince himself that it was just a temporary reaction. His subconscious wouldn't let him get away with that, though: regardless of how Stiles felt, Derek loved him. He was in love with him. So much so that he quietly hoped that Stiles was in love with him, too.

“No video games tonight, you've got to catch up on your homework,” Derek replied, mussing his hair again. “I'll be back later.”

 

That night, as had become their ritual, Derek was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt to bed, while Stiles wore only his boxers. Derek flopped down on the bed, Stiles crawled into his arms, his back against Derek's chest. Usually Derek whispered goodnight into Stiles' ear, but tonight was different. “We should talk.”

Stiles wiggled away from Derek, onto his back, and looked into Derek's eyes, his own filled with trepidation. With a tremor in his voice he asked, “About what?”

“Your dad is coming home tomorrow,” said Derek, propping his head in his hand. “So you won't need me after tonight.”

“Yes I do,” whispered Stiles, closing his eyes. He shivered.

“Why? You already have a patrol car watching the house all hours. Tomorrow night your dad will be here.”

Stiles sighed. “Just because we're protected doesn't mean I'll feel safe.”

A wave of hope surged up in Derek. He tried to keep his voice calm as he asked, “I make you feel safe?”

“Yes,” breathed Stiles. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Derek's. “You being here makes me feel safe. It also makes me feel, feel...”

“Stiles-”

“No! I'm going to say this!” Stiles took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “You make me feel happy.”

“Happy?” Derek asked.

Stiles shifted up on his side so he was face to face with Derek. “When I'm with you, like here, now, I feel happy.”

“Are you saying you have feelings for me?” Derek asked, his wave of hope surging higher.

“Yes. No. I don't know.” Stiles fidgeted. “I want to go to sleep now.” He rolled back over to the spoon position, and pulled Derek's arms around him.

Derek smiled inwardly at Stiles' confusion. He and Stiles really hadn't been friendly very much before the sheriff was shot, it was more they tolerated each other. Then there'd been the time that Stiles had saved his life, and shortly after that Derek had returned the favor. But this had led more to a tolerance of each other, not a real friendship. They were close now, but could it really be called a friendship? Derek decided not to think any more about it tonight. He kissed the back of Stiles' head and whispered a gentle goodnight.

 

Sheriff Stilinski didn't just come home from the hospital, he came home in style. The car he was riding in was escorted by a patrol car, another one following behind. The porch had been festooned with balloons, vivid balls of color drifting lazily in the afternoon sun. Stiles, who had been waiting on the porch for hours, almost tackled his dad in a hug. His eyes watery, Stiles helped the sheriff up the walk.

Derek stood on the porch, watching everything. He thought of his own family, how close they had been, how he missed them terribly. Watching Stiles and his dad brought back the ache of loneliness. Family was important, even if, in Derek's case, the family was different from other ones.

The Hale family had all been werewolves. The how and why this came to be had been lost in the generations. It was a big part of the reason why they lived, and Derek continued to live, outside of Beacon Hill. A few years ago tragedy struck: a werewolf hunter had torched the Hale home, killing not only most of Derek's family, but also several innocent people who were there at the time. Derek and his sister Laura fled the area and stayed away for several years.

Tragedy stuck again soon after they returned: Laura was murdered by another werewolf hunter. Then Derek learned that his uncle Peter, who had also survived the fire but was left in a persistent vegetative state, wasn't vegging at all. He was faking, and at night he was running around in his werewolf form. Derek had killed him, or so he thought.

His thoughts returned to the present as he watched Sheriff Stilinski make his way up the steps and into the house. The sheriff nodded at him as he passed. Stiles' dad knew that Derek had been staying with his son, though he didn't know how closely. How that issue was going to be addressed was something Derek didn't know as he followed the entourage of deputies and visitors inside.

 

“Good night, Mrs. Mathers, and thanks again for all your help.” Sheriff Stilinski said, as he watched the last visitor walk out the door. Stiles, who had practically glued himself to his dad's side all evening, waved to her. Derek, standing against a wall, did nothing. The sheriff turned to him. “You'll be staying again, Derek?” he asked. “I'll make up the couch for you.”

Stiles fidgeted. “Uh, dad, Derek's been staying with me.” When his dad looked confused, Stiles elaborated. “Derek's been sleeping in my bed.”

“You want to explain that?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Dad, you almost died, and I almost lost it. Derek was there for me.” Stiles answered.

Stiles' dad grew concerned. “How there?” The sheriff had arrested Derek in the past, and had learned a lot about him. That Derek was a werewolf worried him, but not as much as the fact that Derek had a lot of anger in him. Still, he'd grown to like Derek, though he had reservations about Derek's friendship with his son.

“He kept me together,” Stiles said flatly. Looking at Derek he said, “He's still keeping me together.”

Sheriff Stilinski looked at Derek. “A moment with my son?” he asked. Derek left the room, and the back door closed. Stiles' dad looked at his son. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying right now I need Derek,” Stiles huffed.

“Stiles, relax.” The sheriff held up his hands. “My biggest concern is for your safety and happiness.” Stiles exhaled, while his dad took a deep breath. “Have you done anything yet?” he blurted out.

Stiles' grin made a return appearance. “Not yet,” he teased.

“Not yet,” the sheriff repeated, not grinning.

Stiles grew serious. “Look, dad, I've got a lot to figure out. Almost losing you,” he squeezed his dad's hand, “scared me to death. Derek was the only one who could understand that. I needed him. Now, well, now, all I can say is I'm happy he's here.”

“And he's happy to be here?”

“He's still here.” Stiles grinned again.

Sheriff Stilinski got a faraway look in his eye. “You are my son. I only want what's best for you. Right now, if Derek is what's best for you, I'll find a way to accept it. All I ask is you don't do anything you will regret later.”

Stiles hugged his father carefully. “Thanks, dad.”

Derek had closed the back door from the inside, then moved where he couldn't be seen while he listened to the conversation between Stiles and his dad. He smiled, but the smile was tinged with doubt. He waited, listening while Stiles and his dad went to bed, then quietly headed up the stairs.

 

Stiles was already in bed when Derek entered his room. Deciding to take a chance, Derek shucked everything but his boxers, and eased himself down next to Stiles, who eagerly wiggled into his arms. He didn't move into spoons position, but rather face to face. Derek smiled. “I heard what you told your dad,” he said.

“Why am I not surprised?” Stiles asked. He looked into Derek's eyes. “I meant what I said. You kept me together. You're keeping me together.”

“What about the rest of it?”

Stiles sighed. He really didn't understand what he was feeling, this was new to him. Those first few nights, Derek had been strength and security, and anchor to hold on to. But something had been stirring in Stiles, deep in his gut. There were times when he looked at Derek, those brooding eyes, dark hair and well-muscled body, he had a reaction that had to be quickly covered up and hidden. Yet now, lying next to him, especially tonight when he could finally see those washboard abs that before he could only feel, the stirring was there, but also a calmness, almost like a surrender. He wanted to kiss Derek, not some mad, passionate, let's-get-it-on kind of kiss, but rather one that was gentle, tender, that said hold me forever. It was confusing.

“Stiles? You know I'm okay with you, don't you?” There was a note of concern in Derek's voice.

“Shocker.” Stiles tried unsuccessfully to sound lighthearted. “A couple weeks ago we couldn't stand each other.”

Derek's eyes bore into him. “A couple weeks ago we didn't understand each other.”

Stiles kissed him.

Derek was stunned. What he'd wanted, hoped for, dreamed about, had just happened. It was soft, gentle, and also exhilarating. But yet, he had to ask himself, was it too soon? “Stiles?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

Stiles' voice was barely a whisper. “I needed to do that. I don't understand what's going on with me. I like you, Derek. Sometimes it's a real I'm-horny kind of like, but other times it's just a hold-me kind of like. I don't know!”

Derek took a deep breath. “I have to be honest with you about something, Stiles-”

A scream shattered the air, immediately followed by the flash and bang of gunfire. Stiles barely had time to blurt “Mrs. Mathers!” before Derek landed on top of him, protecting him. Sheriff Stilinski hurried down the hallway shouting “Stay where you are!” through the bedroom door. Stiles called out to his dad and struggled to get out from under Derek, who held him even tighter.

Through the window, they could hear people running in the yard, and the squawk of a police radio. A deputy was shouting something and sirens could be heard in the distance. Stiles was panicking, Derek had difficulty holding him down. “OW!” Derek bellowed when Stiles bit him, and he yanked his arm back. In a flash Stiles was free and running out the bedroom door. Derek followed, shouting at him to stop.

There was pandemonium in the yard, and the flashing lights of three cruisers added to the confusion. Mrs. Mathers was lying on the ground with a deputy leaning over her, calling on his radio for an ambulance. Other deputies were searching the yard with their flashlights. Stiles was standing next to Sheriff Stilinski, who was talking to a deputy. Derek ran up. “What happened?” he asked.

“She's not hurt,” Sheriff Stilinski said, looking out over the yard. He sounded weary. Mrs. Mathers had seen somebody in the yard, and came out to investigate. She screamed when she saw the gun, but the prowler missed when he shot at her. The deputy watching the house couldn't get a clear shot at the prowler, who got away. Mrs. Mathers fainted, and would be taken to the hospital to be checked out.

Sheriff Stilinski turned to Derek. “Take Stiles and go back to bed. There's nothing more for you guys to see tonight.”

“Dad,” Stiles said, taking a step forward.

“Don't argue with me, son, not this time.” There was a note of sadness in the sheriff's voice. Stiles relented, and gave his dad a quick hug. Taking Derek's hand, they headed back upstairs.

 

Stiles got as far as his bedroom door before his legs gave way and the tears burst forth. Derek scooped him up and carried him to his bed, laying him down gently and lying down next to him. He pulled Stiles into his arms and rocked him slowly, occasionally kissing the top of his head. He murmured reassurances, and gradually Stiles calmed down. Derek knew that continuing their earlier conversation would have to wait, just as he knew that Sheriff Stilinski had not been entirely forthcoming about what happened.

When he was sure that Stiles was asleep, he eased out of bed. Downstairs, he found Sheriff Stilinski in the kitchen, who was not surprised to see him. He studied Derek carefully. “You know who it was.” the sheriff said. Derek nodded. “You didn't tell Stiles.” Derek shook his head, annoyance flashing across his face.

Stiles' dad sat down at the table, and motioned Derek to sit down, too. “My son means everything to me,” he said, sounding tired. “Quite frankly, I don't understand what he sees in you.” Derek said nothing. The sheriff continued. “So I want to know what you see.”

Derek pondered for a moment before answering. “Stiles relates to me because we've both suffered losses.”

“That's not all, though, is it?” Stiles' dad asked.

“What else do you want? I was surprised when he turned to me after you were shot. We weren't the best of friends. I'm surprised at how close we've grown.”

Sheriff Stilinski leaned back in his chair. “So what's in it for you?”

“Nothing.” The sheriff stared at him. “Maybe something. I've grown to like him.” The sheriff continued staring. “A lot.”

“Derek, it's like this,” Sheriff Stilinski leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Stiles wants you around, so I'm going to allow that. For now. I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you hurt him, or allow him to be hurt. Do we understand each other?”

Derek nodded. “I can help you track the shooter,” he said.

“I've got units searching already,” replied the sheriff. He stood up. “But yeah, your help will be useful. We'll talk in the morning. Good night.” Sheriff Stilinski walked out of the kitchen, leaving Derek alone with his churning thoughts.


	2. I'm Still Your Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek rescues an unconscious Stiles. Scott and Lydia talk to Stiles.

Derek burst through the door, raced through the living room to the kitchen, where he saw smoke billowing out of the oven and Stiles unconscious on the floor. Hearing the sirens in the distance, he scooped up Stiles and headed back out the way he came in. “Smoke inhalation!” he yelled. Two firemen pushed past him into the house while paramedics rushed a gurney up the walk. Derek put Stiles on the gurney and the paramedics went to work.

“What happened?” asked Sheriff Stilinski, appearing at Derek's side. Holstering his weapon, he looked down at his son, worried.

“I'm guessing Stiles was trying to make something for dinner, burned it, and was trying to deal with it.” answered Derek.

“Wrong guess.” one of the paramedics said.

“Huh?” Their eyes locked on the paramedic.

“See this?” The paramedic pointed to a red stain on the pillow. “He's had a blow to the head.”

Both Derek's and Sheriff Stilinski's faces hardened with anger. The sheriff grabbed his radio and ordered a full search of the house and yard. Derek followed the paramedics as they wheeled the gurney to the ambulance. When he tried to climb in, a deputy held him back. Derek pointed at Sheriff Stilinski, who waved an okay, and he sped off with Stiles.

By the time the sheriff got to the hospital, Stiles was resting. The doctor had examined him, x-rayed him, decided there was no concussion, and Stiles would regain consciousness soon. Derek, his head hung down, was holding one of Stiles' hand with both of his own. Stiles' dad stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene of his injured son, and the man who cared for him.

He sat down next to Derek. There had been no sign of a break-in, no sign at all that anybody else had been there. He'd called Scott, Stiles' best friend, who said that Stiles had left school on time, saying he was going home. A canvass of the neighborhood had turned up no suspicious persons or activity. He was puzzled.

Derek was puzzled, too. He'd been tracking the shooter, with no luck. The trail was confusing, criss-crossing itself like a maze or spider web, meaning this person was smart and knew how to confuse his chasers. He'd gotten a list of known hangouts from the sheriff, but found nothing at those places, either.

The sheriff looked at Derek. “I think it's time we went to the fallback plan,” he said.

“Derek,” whispered Stiles, his eyes fluttering open.

Immediately both men were on their feet, their faces a mixture of relief and concern. Each started to say something, but Stiles cut them off with one word: Water. Derek was reaching for a glass when a herd of nurses and doctors charged into the room, saying the sheriff and Derek had to leave while they checked over their patient. Neither man moved. A nurse started to physically push them, and Sheriff Stilinski told her he was Stiles' father. “I don't care who you are, get out!” she hollered. The sheriff tried asserting his official authority. “I'm a nurse, I'M the authority!” he was informed. Derek was so angry he was on the verge of turning wolf when Sheriff Stilinski told him they may was well leave.

In the hallway, Derek was fuming, pounding his fist into his other hand, pacing back and forth. “They can't do that!” he exclaimed. “It's not right!”

“Derek,” Stiles' dad said in a voice clearly intended to convey calmness, “They're the only hospital in the county. They can do anything they want. And since we want them to take care of Stiles, we really don't have much of a say in the matter.” He put his hand on Derek's shoulder. “I know you have feelings for him, and I'm beginning to see that they run pretty deep.”

Derek didn't bother to answer because Scott and Lydia walked up the hallway. Instead, mild apprehension crept into his head. Best friends with Stiles since grade school, Scott was a werewolf who had been created by Derek's uncle Peter. Scott didn't like Derek very much, didn't trust him too much either, but somehow they did manage to work together when they needed to. Stiles had been dating Lydia for a while. She didn't yet think of herself as Stiles' girlfriend, though that's how most people saw her.

Scott and Lydia didn't know about the new closeness between Derek and Stiles, all they knew was that Derek had taken care of Stiles while Sheriff Stilinski was in the hospital. Scott hadn't been happy about it, he had even told Stiles to send Derek home, but Stiles had refused.

The medical people filed out of the room, the nurse tersely informing Stiles' dad they could go in. Derek went in first, and Stiles took his hand. Scott gave them a sharp look but said nothing.

Sheriff Stilinski was all business. “I'm glad you're okay, son, but I need to ask you what happened. Who was in the house with you?”

Stiles looked at him blankly. “Nobody.”

“How did you get that blow to your head?”

Stiles looked sheepish. “I, I, uh, really, uh, uh...”

“Stiles.” His dad's voice had a warning ring to it.

Stiles exhaled loudly. “Fine! Mrs. Mathers put a casserole in the oven and told me to take it out in thirty minutes. I was playing a video game and lost track of the time and didn't realize it until I saw smoke coming out of the kitchen and I ran in to get the casserole and slipped on something and that's the last thing I remember!”

“You slipped on something?”

“That's the last thing you remember?”

“Yeah!”

“So you probably hit your head on the counter.”

For a moment there was silence in the room as all four people tried, really tried, but were unsuccessful. First Scott and Lydia burst into laughter, Lydia doubling over while Scott pointed at Stiles. Stiles' dad and Derek tried to hang on but then they lost it, too, loud guffaws bursting forth. Stiles crossed his arms and glared at them. “Yeah. Funny. Really funny.” he huffed.

Lydia was laughing so hard she was hanging on to Scott to keep from falling down. Sheriff Stilinski said something about calling off the search and left the room, Derek following him with a quick wave to Stiles. Scott took a deep breath to stop his laughing, lasted a few seconds, then burst out laughing some more. Stiles couldn't stay mad: first he grinned, then laughed as well. “Ow, my head,” moaned Stiles, his laughter evaporating.

Scott and Lydia pulled themselves together, and sat down. They talked about the search for the shooter, how that wasn't going well. Scott very much wanted to talk to Stiles about Derek, especially about how Derek had taken his hand, but didn't want to say anything in front of Lydia. More than just upsetting her, he knew about her unhappy past. But it was Lydia who tackled the issue head on.

“So, Stiles, I saw Derek holding your hand. Are you two official?” she asked. Both Stiles' and Scott's jaws fell open. “You think I'm clueless?” she asked. “Besides,” her voice became soft and tender, “I think it's sweet.” Stiles gaped at her. Lydia smiled. “Stiles, you like being brave, the knight in shining armor, but you've got a vulnerable side, a part of you that likes -needs- to be cared for. And, it's not about the sex of the person as much as it is how you relate to them.”

“I relate to you,” Stiles ventured.

“Yes, you do, but right now you relate more to Derek. Go with that. Not to mention,” Lydia giggled, “I think it's hot.”

Stiles' eyes grew wide. “Hot?” he asked.

“Hot! You two make a hot couple. See where it goes.” Lydia kissed his cheek. “I'm still your friend.” She waved as she went out the door.

Scott stood there, mute, his arms hanging loosely at his side, unhappiness on his face. He wasn't upset that Stiles could be gay. He was surprised that Lydia was giving him the space to explore the possibility, since usually Lydia tended to be a bit self-centered. No, the unhappiness was because the other person was Derek. Hadn't Stiles endured enough of the problems that Derek caused? Didn't Stiles realize what a liar Derek was? He shook his head and without a word, departed.

Stiles didn't have time to think about Scott's behavior, as Derek and his dad came back in. The sheriff had called off the investigation, and noted that he was going to be the butt of many jokes for weeks to come. He'd also talked to the doctor, who said Stiles could go home.

Oh, and by the way, dinner was ruined.


	3. Not The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski and Derek pursue the shooter, Stiles confronts Scott

Sheriff Stilinski waved Derek into his office while speaking on the phone. Derek closed the door behind him, sat down and waited. Looking around, he saw the usual stacks of files and other paperwork that come with being a boss. One part of the desk, though, was clear, having just a large picture of the sheriff, his late wife, and Stiles when he was a little boy. The sheriff, hanging up the phone, noticed Derek studying it. “That was taken shortly before she died.” he explained.

Derek looked up and Stiles' dad read the question on his face. “No,” he said simply. “It would be easy to say that between my job and raising Stiles I didn't have much free time, but the truth is I just didn't want to.” His eyes radiated pain. Stiles' mother had devoted her life to her husband and her son, and when she died they took it hard. The sheriff admitted that he called the months after her death the “black period,” because he wasn't sure he could go on, much less take care of his son.

Stiles had begun acting out violently, both at home and at school, and no amount of punishment seemed to make a difference. It reached a point where Melissa McCall had stopped by one day and was concerned whether her son Scott should be friends with Stiles any more. When Sheriff Stilinski talked to Stiles about that, the boy had yelled “You're not my mother!” and he had yelled back, “You're not my wife!” They stared at each other, realizing the pain and loss each was suffering.

Rebuilding their lives wasn't easy. Stiles' pain ran much deeper than anybody had realized. His dad had to find a way to guide him through that pain, without doing stupid things like overindulging him. He took time off from work and spent it with his son. He enlisted the help of people like Mrs. McCall and Mrs. Mathers to give Stiles some structure and guidance. Slowly Stiles improved, but it was clear there was a hole, an ache, that might never go away.

The phone rang again. The sheriff spoke briefly, then turned his attention back to Derek. “I've got a new lead on the shooter I'd like you to follow.”

“I thought you called off the search for the shooter?” Derek asked.

“Not you, too.” Sheriff Stilinski sighed. “I called off the hunt for whoever might have broken into the house, after we learned that it was just Stiles being Stiles.” He smiled at the thought of dinner burning. “But as far as finding the shooter, no, we're still working that.”

Derek leaned forward. “Why don't you just use his name? After all, we know it's-”

“Don't do that, Derek,” admonished the sheriff. He looked through the office windows toward the other department employees. “Stiles knows we're not telling him everything, and he's been nosing around trying to find out. I've told the guys to play dumb, and you need to, as well.”

Derek was annoyed. “He has a right to know.”

“And he will,” the sheriff replied, “When it's over. But he's going to be upset, and I'd like to put that off as long as I can.” He leaned forward. “This is what I've got...”

 

Across town, the door to Scott McCall's bedroom burst open, revealing one very annoyed Stiles Stilinski. Scott jumped up off his bed, where he'd been thinking very actively about his ex-girlfriend Allison, and shouted a string of swear words while frantically trying to get his pants zipped up. He turned to face his friend, who hadn't even cracked a smile at finding him in this predicament. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he shouted.

Stiles said nothing as he advanced. Stopping with his face just inches away from Scott's, his eyes bore deeply into those of his best friend. Scott was still angry. “What?” he asked, his teeth clenched.

Stiles spoke very softly. “I should be asking you, what!” he said. “I should be asking what you've got against me and Derek.”

“I've got nothing against you.” Scott said. “Derek is the problem.” Stiles kept staring. Scott continued. “Derek is bad news. He's trouble. How many times has he put you in danger?”

“He saved my life,” Stiles retorted.

“That doesn't explain what's going on now,” Scott said. He exhaled and sat down on the bed. “Just what is going on?”

Stiles dropped his shoulders, and sat down next to Scott. “It's a lot of things. When dad got shot, I was terrified.” Stiles explained the terrible fear and panic he was feeling, and how Derek had found him in the hospital bathroom trying very hard not to lose it completely. He felt that Derek was a lifeline, something that kept him from going to that awful place he went to when his mom died. Knowing he was on the edge, he clung to Derek. A tear leaked out of Stiles' eye and ran down his face. Derek had lost family, too, Derek knew what that awful place was like.

“I've lost family too,” interjected Scott. “My dad walked out on us, remember?”

“Not the same,” Stiles replied. “You could still contact your dad if you had to.” He went on to explain that even now he still saw that awful place in his dreams, that place where his family was dead and he was utterly alone.

Stiles did admit, though, that as time had gone on, his feelings for Derek had changed. Lately he had been having what he called “friendly” feelings, and felt confused by that. Scott wondered if maybe Stiles was starting to inch his way out of the closet. Stiles admitted that anything was possible, but that when he needed a long shower, it was because of Lydia, not Derek. But, and now Stiles blushed, he admitted to kissing Derek, and kissing him because he wanted to.

“You know, Lydia said something about you needing to be cared for.” Scott looked thoughtful. “And that thing about relating to people. Maybe you're just confusing Derek taking care of you with romantic feelings.”

Stiles blushed harder as he explained that there were times he wanted to rip off all of Derek's clothes and ravage his body. That certainly was more than just confusing caring and romantic feelings. He had thought about talking to Danny.

Scott looked his best friend in the eye. “So call Danny. I don't care if you're gay or not. I just have a problem with it being Derek.” 

“That's going to have to be your problem, then.” Stiles said simply.

Scott threw his hands in the air. “I can't say anything else. You know the score. Just watch your back.”

 

Traveling a hundred miles as a wolf was less exhausting than doing it as a human, but Derek was still glad that the address Sheriff Stilinski had given him was a pub. Pushing the door open, he saw someone sitting at the bar that was worth talking to. Derek walked up behind him. “He won't get away with it.”

The person didn't turn around. “He has so far.”

“Not for much longer. We're closing in on him.” Derek took a step closer, his breath now hot on the person's neck.

“You don't scare me, Derek,” the person said. “I've got just what you need, right here.” He held up a vial of liquid which glistened in the dim light. “Pouring it on you will be just as effective, even if it is slower.”

Derek paused. There was enough Wolfsbane in the vial to do the job, and it would be agonzing. “Stopping me doesn't stop the search. Who do you think sent me here?”

“The same person who ruined my dad's life!” The person turned to face Derek. “Which ruined my life, too. So he'll pay. And so will Stiles.” A hint of a smile played around the person's mouth. “And if the rumors are true, so will you.”

Derek's anger flared. “If you hurt Stiles!”

“Oh, no.” The person smiled this time. “Stiles will be hurt enough when he buries his dad.”

Derek reached for the person's throat, but the person wiggled the vial in front of him. “Ah, ah! Wouldn't do that! I think you should just go now.”

Derek's arms fell to his sides. “This isn't over,” he said, backing away.


	4. And They Know How To Use Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shooter is revealed, Derek and Stiles make some arrangements.

“Why are you lying to me?” Stiles stormed into the sheriff's office, his face twisted in anger. “You know who the shooter is, but you won't tell me!” He leaned forward and put his hands on the sheriff's cluttered desk. “I want to know!”

Sheriff Stilinski gazed at his son, while mulling his response. He hated shutting out Stiles, but at the same time he worried about how much the boy could handle. Derek had told him about the emotional turmoil Stiles had gone through after the shooting; while this information wasn't quite that huge, it could still be painful. “I'm trying to protect you.” he said.

“Yeah, right, sheriff.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“That's enough, Stiles!” Sheriff Stilinski stood up. “I'm your father. And I don't want to see,” his breath hitched, “I don't want to see you hurt again!”

Seeing the pain in his dad's eyes, Stiles backed off, and slumped into the old chair behind him. “Dad,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Is it that bad?”

Sheriff Stilinski wasn't Sheriff Stilinski at that moment, he was Mr. Stilinski who wanted to protect his son. He spoke gently. “I don't know, but I don't want to find out.”

“I'll find out when you make an arrest,” Stiles ventured.

The sheriff sat down, his eyes now level with Stiles' across the desk. “Yes, you will,” he said, with sadness in his voice. “But you'll also have me,” he paused, “And Derek,” he paused again, “To help you through it.”

The look of relief on Stiles' face was what his dad had hoped for. Then the look changed to one of questioning. “So you're okay with Derek?” Stiles asked.

“I have to admit I don't get it. Wait a minute-” Stiles had started to say something. “I do get that it's working.”

“I don't know if I'm-”

“Stiles, that's not an issue.” Sheriff Stilinski held up his hands. “What I care about is that you're safe and happy. And I know you make Derek happy.”

Stiles' eyes widened. “He told you that?” He leaned forward, eager for more information, when the phone rang. The sheriff glanced at it, then nodded at Stiles.

“I've probably said too much. You need to talk to Derek. So spend the afternoon with him like I asked, okay?”

Stiles stood up. “Okay.” He waved as he went out the door.

Sheriff Stilinski picked up the phone and listened. “Good,” he said. “You guys just keep watching, and do not engage. I'm on my way.”

 

“Derek, why are we walking through the warehouse district instead of in the woods?” Stiles asked, keeping pace alongside his friend as they walked down the sidewalk. Dirty buildings loomed on both sides of the street, and there was a faint rumbling noise in the background.

“Change of pace,” Derek smiled, but avoided looking Stiles in the eye. “We always do the woods, I thought we'd do something different.”

Stiles halted and glared at him, frustrated. Derek, who had gone a step further, stopped and turned around. “You're hiding something, Derek, I know. You've been hiding something for weeks.”

“Stiles-”

Hands on his hips, Stiles ordered, “Tell me what's going on!”

Derek's face hardened. Right there on the sidewalk, he pulled Stiles into an embrace, their faces barely an inch apart. Derek whispered, “I love you,” and kissed him.

Fireworks of shock, happiness, and surprise were exploding and swirling inside Stiles. He kissed Derek back, a long, deep, passionate kiss as they melted against each other. In the distance someone shouted “Get a room!” Both of them freed a hand and flipped the unknown voice off. Derek's other hand slid down and found Stiles' crotch, Stiles pulled back. “Uh, Derek, not so fast.”

With a sly grin on his face, Derek complied. “Okay, how about this?” He kneaded Stiles' chest, who murmured his approval. The unknown voice shouted again, so Derek pulled him into an alley, pushed him against a wall and kissed him again, deeper, more passionately. Both his hands massaged Stiles' chest, while Stiles' hands explored his back.

“I really do love you,” Derek whispered, his breath hot on Stiles' ear, making him groan. “Don't ask me when or how, I just know I fell hard for you.”

Stiles pulled Derek into a tight hug and kissed his neck. “I've got feelings for you, too,” Stiles said. “But I'm really confused about all of this.”

“What's confusing you?” asked Derek.

“You're the only guy I've ever had these kinds of feelings for. No, really.” Stiles answered, looking at Derek. “I still like Lydia, but a couple of times I've really wanted to jump your bones.”

Derek smiled as he gazed into Stiles' eyes. “Seriously?”

“Just a couple of times.” Stiles rested his head on Derek's shoulder. “More times, I just want to give myself up to you, let you hold me, kiss me, hug me.” 

“You just want to feel safe,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded. “I know that feeling. I have it a lot.” Stiles kissed his cheek.

“There's times I want to do more than that,” Derek pressed up against him. Stiles answered by pressing his lips against Derek's, his tongue snapping against Derek's teeth, which quickly parted, and their tongues danced together.

Derek pulled away. Almost panting, he said, “I've got to stop or I'm going to take you right here!” He adjusted himself.

“Who said you would be taking me?” Stiles teased.

Startled, Derek glanced at Stiles. “I'm bigger.”

“I'm smarter.”

“I'm stronger.”

“I'm agile.”

“I can turn into a wolf.”

“I know.” Stiles grinned and kissed him again. “And I can be your alpha.”

Derek took Stiles' hand and pulled him back to the sidewalk. “C'mon, there's this place I want to show you.”

 

Sheriff Stilinski pulled up to the self-storage place and walked quietly to where the deputy was crouched down, peeking around a corner. The sheriff peeked, too, and saw a variety of boats, travel trailers, cars and recreational vehicles.

“Whittemore's in that green RV there,” pointed the deputy.

“Has there been any activity?” the sheriff whispered.

“The boy left about an hour ago. Whittemore's alone.”

Backing away, the sheriff radioed the SWAT team, then went to the office and told the manager to get everybody off the property and close the gates. The team arrived, and were given instructions. Like cats in the night, they made no sound as they positioned themselves on the tops of buildings and recreational vehicles, behind cars and around corners, all with clear aim at Whittemore's RV.

A deputy handed Sheriff Stilinski a bullhorn, which he raised to his mouth. “Whittemore, we've got you surrounded. Come on out!” There was no response. “Whittemore! Come on out and give yourself up!”

One of the front windows opened and the shooters tensed up. Instead of a gun, a bottle appeared. “No good, sheriff! I've got enough wolfsbane in here to take out a whole pack!” Some of the deputies, curiosity on their faces, looked at the sheriff.

He ignored them and raised the bullhorn again. “You lose, Whittemore! All I have today are men. With guns. And they know how to use them.”

“Stilinski, you cost me my law license!” shouted the voice behind the window. “You'll pay for that!”

There was a note of sorrow in the sheriff's voice. “You shouldn't have been driving drunk again.”

The radio crackled. “I have a clear shot,” a voice said. Sheriff Stilinski grabbed the mic and told the shooter to hold. He felt sad. He and Whittemore had been friends for years, made easy because the lawyer didn't do criminal cases, made harder because of the drinking problem and the sheriff had to arrest him quite a few times. The last time had been one too many for the state, which revoked his license. The family had immediately moved away, but not before the ex-lawyer had vowed revenge on the sheriff.

Sheriff Stilinski was feeling apprehensive, too. Rarely did these situations end well, and while he'd done his job, he still liked the Whittemore family. Both men had sons about the same age, went to the same high school, played on the LaCrosse team together. Mrs. Whittemore, like the sheriff's neighbor, Mrs. Mathers, and others, had volunteered several hundred hours to charitable work over the years.

“Make this easy on yourself and your family,” the sheriff said through the bullhorn.

“You mean make this easy on you!” shot the reply out the window.

Opening his radio mic, the sheriff whispered “Gas.” A SWAT team member who had been hiding at the back of the RV pulled out a cannister, popped the top, grabbed the screen off a window and lobbed the cannister inside. In moments the place was full of tear gas, which slowly drifted out the windows.

Behind him, the sheriff heard a commotion. He couldn't take his eyes off the RV, but he heard a young man shouting “Dad! Dad!” and the pinging noise of somebody climbing over a wire fence. It sounded like one or two deputies apprehended him, but he was still yelling.

A flash of light and a loud popping noise from the RV caused SWAT team members to converge on it from all directions. Only two had gone through the door when somebody yelled “Clear!” and another member called for the sheriff to come in. Telling the deputies to keep hold of the boy, Sheriff Stilinski stepped inside, his worst fears confirmed. Slowly he walked across the lot, pain on his face. “I'm sorry, Jackson,” he said, shaking his head.

The two deputies went from holding him back to holding him up as Jackson's body folded and a tortured wail burst from deep in his gut. “This is all your fault!” he bellowed.

Sheriff Stilinski's voice was even. “Jackson, look deep into your heart and tell me that's true.” One of the deputies produced a bottle of water, while another grabbed a chair and eased Jackson into it. The sheriff continued. “It's a terrible thing. I'm sorry, I didn't want it to end this way.” Jackson looked defeated. “You're not completely innocent yourself, but there's no sense in ruining your life, too. Here's the deal.” Sheriff Stilinksi took a deep breath. “You go home, pull yourself together, get back on track. I'll keep your name and your dad's name out of the newspapers. We'll stick to the story that you just moved away. But if you get arrested for anything -anything- in the next two years, I'll add to whatever those charges are.”

Jackson Whittemore took the glass of water that the deputy had been holding and gulped down half of it. Without looking at the sheriff, he murmured his assent. Sheriff Stilinski put his hand on Jackson's shoulder. “Good. One of the deputies will drive you home, and I'll send your dad's body to the funeral home up there tomorrow.”

 

“Bromance with benefits?”

“Uh-huh.”

Derek, who was shirtless, propped his head on his elbow. “And just what does that mean?”

Stiles, who was also shirtless and lying on the cement floor next to Derek, grinned. “Like this,” he said, pointing at him, then at himself.

Derek put his hand on Stiles' crotch. “I still wanna take you.”

“You will, just not here,” Stiles promised, not removing Derek's hand. He looked around the old warehouse they were in. “Why'd you bring me here?”

Derek's phone rang. “I'm thinking of buying it,” he said, fumbling in his pocket. He answered and listened, occasionally acknowledging what he heard. “Got it. No problem.” He listened a bit more, turning his head to look at Stiles. “I think we should tell you in person,” he said, winking at Stiles. He hung up.

Stiles leaned up. “My dad?” he asked. Derek nodded. “What'd he say?”

“They got the shooter, but he killed himself while they were trying to arrest him.” He reached for his shirt. “Get dressed, Stiles, we're going to see your dad.”

Stiles didn't move. “Who was it?” he asked with a hard look on his face.

Derek was pulling his t-shirt on, and stopped when the cloth was covering his face. “Some guy your dad sent to prison years ago. He got out and wanted revenge.” The look on Stiles' face said he wasn't buying it. Derek sighed. “We thought it might've been Scott's dad, since your dad helped Scott's mom so much during the divorce. We were afraid you'd tell Scott.”

Stiles huffed, unhappy with that excuse. “You think I'd-”

Derek kissed him. “It's over. Get dressed, so we can go see your dad.”

“Why are we going to see him?” Stiles asked, clearly still unhappy at the way he'd been treated.

“So we can make arrangements to get as many benefits as we can from this bromance!” Derek took his hand, and they headed out.


End file.
